Ems or 

LOVE * 



ElLTl WHEELER WILC 







Class. 
Book. 



4. 



."UJu^-^^c^^^ "^ ^W^oAe^ 




POEMS 

LOVE 

BY 

ihiK Ella Wheeler NA/^ilcox 

AUTHOPv OF 

POEMS OF PLEASURE, POEMS OF PASSION 
POEMS OF REFLECTION 
OUT OF THE DEPTHS 



CHICAGO 

M. A. DoNOHUE &- Company 

407-429 Dearborn Street 






COPYRIGHTED 1905 



M. A. DONOHUE & Co. 



6 . 1 6 ? 

FEB 17 1941 






M. A. DONOH U E Sc COM PANY 
PRINTERS AND BINDERS 
A07-4.29 DEARBORN STREET 
CH ICAGO 



J 



CONTENTS. 



PACK. 

"Sweet Danger " 9 

A Fatal Impress 11 

Love 13 

I Will Be True 14 

The Farewell 15 

The Kingdom of Love 16 

Love Will Wane 18 

Three-Fold 20 

A Maiden's Secret 22 

Lines from "Maurine" 24 

Art and Love 26 

One Woman's History 27 

Why the Spring is Late 28 

River and Sea 30 

Love ' 32 

In the Garden 34 

When You Go Away 36 

Lines on H — 's Foot 38 

A Baby in the House 41 

Resigned 43 

In Faith 46 

I Told You 49 

Lost 51 

Only a Sad Mistake 54 

Song of the Wheelman 56 

5 



6 CONTENTS. 

PAGE. 

"The Old Moon in the New Moon's Arms" 58 

The Soul's Farewell to the Body 59 

Long Ago 61 

^ake my Hand 63 

The Wild Blue-Bells 64 

A Waif 68 

A Face at the Window 70 

Searching 73 

Our Blessings 75 

Going Away 77 

Be Not Weary 79 

Growing Old 81 

The Summons 83 

Conversion 85 

One Woman's Plea 86 

If 89 

A Plea for Fame 92 

A Mother's Wail 94 

'The Same Old Strain" 97 

Limitless 99 

Denied 100 

Warned 102 

Rich and Poor 104 

Over the Alley 107 

At the Window 110 

Only a Kiss 113 

My Ship 117 

Finis 119 

Lines 120 

Over the Water 123 

Flowers for the Brave 125 



CONTENTS. 7 

PAGE. 

The People's Favorite 129 

An Army Reunion 131 

The Camp Fire 139 

Independence Ode 143 



'SWEET DANGER." 



The danger of war, with its havoc of life, 
The danger of ocean, when storms are rife, 
The danger of jungles, where wild beasts hide, 
The danger that lies in the mountain slide, — 
Why, what are they but all mere child's play, 
Or the idle sport of a summer day, 
Beside those battles that stir and vex 
The world forever, of sex with sex ? 



The warrior returns from the captured fort. 

The mariner sails to a peaceful port; 

The wild beast quails 'neath the strong man's eye, 

The avalanche passes the traveler by — 

But who can rescue from passion's pyre 

The hearts that were offered to feed its fire ? 

Ah! he who emerges from that fierce flame 

Is scarred with sorrow or blackened with shame. 



Battle and billow, and beast of prey, 
They only threaten the nuortal clay; 
The soul unfettered can take to wing, 
But the danger of love is another thing. 



10 POEMS OF LOVE. 

Once under the tyrant Passion's control, 
He crushes body, and heart, and soul. 
An hour of rapture, an age of despair, 
Ah! these are the trophies of love's warfare. 



And yet forever, since time began. 
Has man dared woman and woman lured man 
To that sweet danger that lurks and lies 
In the bloodless battle of eyes with eyes ; 
That reckless danger, as vast as sweet. 
Whose bitter ending is joy's defeat. 
Ah ! thus forever, while time shall last, 
On passion's altar must hearts be cast! 



POEMS OF LOVE. 11 



A FATAL IMPRESS. 



A little leaf just in the forest's edge, 
All summer long, had listened to the wooing 
Of amorous birds that flew across the hedge, 
Singing their blithe sweet songs for her undoing. 
So many were the flattering things they told her, 
The parent tree seemed quite too small to hold her. 



At last one lonesome day she saw them fly 
Across the fields behind the coquette sunmuer, 
They passed her with a laughing light good-by, 
When from the north, there strode a strange new 

comer ; 
Bold was his mien^ as he gazed on her, crying, 
"How comes it, then, that thou art left here 

sighing ! 



* ' Now by my faith thou art a lovely leaf — 
May I not kiss that cheek so fair and tender?' 
Her slighted heart welled full of bitter grief. 
The rudeness of his words did not offend her. 
She felt so sad, so desolate, so deserted. 
Oh, if her lonely fate might be averted. 



12 POEMS OF LOVE. 



''One little kiss," he sighed, "I ask no more — ** 
His face was cold, his lips too pale for passion. 
She smiled assent; and then bold Frost leaned 

lower, 
And clasped her close, and kissed in lover's fashion. 
Her smooth cheek flushed to sudden guilty 

splendor. 
Another kiss, and then complete surrender. 



Just for a day she was a beauteous sight, 
The world looked on to pity and admire 
This modest little leaf, that in a night 
Had seemed to set the forest all on fire. 
And then — this victim of a broken trust, 
A withered thing, was trodden in the dust. 



POEMS OF LOVE. 13 



LOVE. 



The day is drawing near, my dear, 
"When you and I must sever; 
Yet whether near or far we are, 
Our hearts will love forever, 
Our hearts will love forever. 



sweet, I will be true, and you 
Must never fail or falter; 

1 hold a love like mine divine. 
And yours — it must not alter, 
0, swear it will not alter. 



14 POEMS OF LOVE. 



I WILL BE TRUE. 



I will be true. Mad stars forsake their courses, 

And, led by reckless meteors, turn away 

From paths appointed by Eternal Forces. 

But my fixed heart shall never go astray. 

Like those calm worlds, whose sun-directed motion 

Is undisturbed by strife of wind or sea, 

So shall my swerveless and serene devotion 

Sweep on forever, loyal unto thee. 



I will be true. Light barks may be belated, 

Or turned aside by every breeze at play; 

While sturdy ships, well manned, and richly 

freighted, 
With broad sails flying, anchor safe in bay. 
Like some firm, rock, that, steadfast and unshaken, 
Stands all unmoved, while ebbing billows flee. 
So would my heart stand, faithful if forsaken. 
I will be true, though thou art false to me. 



POEMS OF LOVE. 15 



THE FAREWELL. 



'Tis not the untried soldier new to danger 
Who fears to enter into active strife. 

Amidst the roll of drums, the cannon's rattle, 
He craves adventure, and thinks not of life. 



But the scarred veteran knows the price of glory, 
He does not court the conflict or the fray. 

He has no longing to rehearse that gory 
And most dramatic act, of war's dark play. 



He who to love has always been a stranger, 
All unafraid may linger in your spell. 

My heart has known the warfare, and its danger. 
It craves no repetition — so farewell. 



16 POEMS OF LOVE. 



THE KINGDOM OF LOVE. 



In the dawn of the day, when the sea and the 
earth 

Reflected the sunrise above, 
I set forth, with a heart full of courage and mirth, 

To seek for the Kingdom of Love. 
I asked of a Poet I met on the way, 

Which cross-road would lead me aright. 
And he said: "Follow me, and ere long you wiU 
see 

Its glistening turrets of Light." 

And soon in the distance a city shone fair; 

"Look yonder," he said, "there it gleams!" 
But alas! for the hopes that were doomed to de- 
spair, 

It was only the Kingdom of Dreams. 
Then the next man I asked was a gay cavalier, 

And he said : ' ' Follow me, follow me, ' ' 
And with laughter and song we went speeding 
along 

By the shores of life's beautiful sea. 

Till we came to a valley more tropical far, 
Than the wonderful Vale of Cashmere. 



POEMS OF LOVE. 17 

And I saw from a bower a face like a flower, 

Smile out on the gay cavalier. 
And he said: "We have come to humanity's 
goal — 

Here love and delight are intense." 
But alas ! and alas ! for the hope of my soul — 

It was only the kingdom of Sense — 



As I journeyed more slowly, I met on the road 

A coach with retainers behind, 
And they said : ' ' Follow us, for our lady 's abode 

Belongs in the realm you would find." 
'Twas a grand dame of fashion, a newly-wed 
bride ; 

I followed, encouraged and bold. 
But my hope died away, like the last gleams of day, 

For we came to the Kingdom of Gold. 



At the door of a cottage I asked a fair maid. 

' ' I have heard of that Realm, ' ' she replied, 
"But my feet never roam from the Kingdom of 
Home, 

So I know not the way," and she sighed. 
I looked on the cottage, how restful it seemed! 

And the maid was as fair as a dove. 
Great light glorified my soul as I cried, 

' ' Why, home is the Kingdom of Love ! ' ' 



18 POEMS OF LOVE. 



LOVE WILL WANE. 



When your love begins to wane, 
Spare me from the cruel pain 

Of all speech that tells me so — 
Spare me words, for I shall know, 



By the half-averted eyes, 

By the breast that no more sighs, 
By the rapture I shall miss 

From your strangely-altered kiss; 



By the arms that still enfold 

But have lost their clinging hold, 

And, too willing, let me go, 

I shall know, love, I shall know. 



Bitter will the knowledge be. 
Bitterer than death to me. 

Yet, 'twill come to me some day, 
For it is the sad world's way. 



POEMS OF LOVE. 19 

Make no vows — vows cannot bind 
Changing hearts or wayward mind. 

Men grow weary of a bliss 
Passionate and fond as this. 



Love will wane. But I shall know, 

If you do not tell me so. 
Know it, tho' you smile and say 

That you love me more each day. 



Know it by the inner sight 
That forever sees aright. 

"Words could but increase my woe, 
And without them, I shall know. 



20 POEMS OF LOVE. 



THREE-FOLD. 



Somewhere I've read a thoughtful mind's reflec- 
tion : 

' ' All perfect things are three-fold ' ' ; and I know 
Our love has this rare symbol of perfection ; 

The brain's response^ the warm blood's raptur- 
ous glow, 
The soul's sweet language, silent and unspoken. 

All these unite us with a deathless tie. 
For when our frail, clay tenement is broken, 

Our spirits will be lovers stilly on high. 



My dearest wash, you speak before I word it. 

You understand the workings of my heart. 
My soul's thought, breathed where only God has 
heard it. 

You fathom with your strange divining art. 
And like a fire, that cheers, and lights, and blesses, 

And floods a mansion full of happy heat. 
So does the subtle warmth of your caresses, 

Pervade me with rapture, keen as sweet. 



And so sometimes, as you and I together 
Exult in all dear love's three- fold delights, 



POEMS OF LOVE. 21 

I cannot help but vaguely wonder whether 

When our freed souls attain their spirit heights, 

E 'en if we reach that upper realm, where God is, 
And find the tales of heavenly glory true, 

I wonder if we shall not miss our bodies, 

And long, at times, for hours on earth we knew. 



As now, we sometimes pray to leave our prison 

And soar beyond all physical demands, 
So may we not sigh, when we have arisen, 

For just one old-time touch of lips and hands ? 
I know, dear heart, a thought like this seems daring 

Concerning God's vast Government above, 
Yet, even There, I shrink from wholly sparing 

One element, from this, our Three-fold Love. 



22 POEMS OF LOVE, 



A MAIDEN'S SECRET. 



I have written this day down in my heart 

As the sweetest day in the season ; 
From all of the others I've set it apart — 

But I will not tell you the reason. 
That is my secret — I must not tell ; 

But the skies are soft and tender, 
And never before, I know full well, 

Was the earth so full of splendor. 



I sing at my labor the whole day long, 

And my heart is as light as a feather; 
And there is a reason for my glad song 

Besides the beautiful weather. 
But I will not tell it to you ; and though 

That thrush in the maple heard it, 
And would shout it aloud if he could, I know 

He hasn't the power to word it. 



Up, where I was sewing, this morn came one 
Who told me the sweetest stories, 

He said I had stolen my hair from the sun. 
And my eyes from the morning glories. 



POEMS OF LOVE. 23 

Grandmother says that I miLst not believe 

A word men say, for they flatter ; 
But I'm sure he would never try to deceive 

For he told me — but there — no matter! 



Last night I was sad, and the world to me 

Seemed a lonely and dreary dwelling. 
But some one then had not asked me to be — 

There now ! I am almost telling. 
Not another word shall my two lips say, 

I will shut them fast together. 
And never a mortal shall know to-day 

Why my heart is as light as a feather. 



24 POEMS OF LOVE. 



LINES FROM "MAURINE." 



It was a way of Helen's not to sing 

The songs that other people sang ; she took 
Sometimes an extract from an olden book — 

Again some floating, fragmentary thing, 
And these she fitted to old melodies, 
Or else composed the music. One of these 

She sang that night ; and Vivian caught the strain. 

And joined her in the chorus or refrain : 

thou, mine other stronger part. 
Whom yet I cannot hear or see. 

Come thou and take this loving heart, 
That longs to yield its all to thee. 

1 call mine own, come to me — 
Love, answer back, ' ' I come to thee, 

I come to thee!" 

This hungry heart, so warm, so large 

Is far too great a care for me. 
I have grown weary of the charge 

I keep so sacredly for thee. 
Come, then, and take my heart from me — 
Love, answer back, "I come to thee, 
I come to thee." 



POEMS OF LOVE. 25 

I am a 'weary waiting here 

For one who tarries long from me. 

0, art thou far, or art thon near, 
And must I still be sad for thee? 

Love, answer, "I am near to thee, 
I am come to thee!" 



26 POEMS OF LOVE, 



ART AND LOVE. 



For many long uninterrupted years 

She was the friend and confidant of Art ; 

They walked together, heart communed with heart 

In that sweet comradeship that so endears. 

Her fondest hopes, her sorrows and her fears 

She told her mate ; who would in turn impart 

Important truths and secrets. But a dart, 

Shot by that unskilled, mischievous boy, who peers 

From ambush on us, struck one day her breast, 

And Love sprang forth to kiss away her tears. 

She thought his brow shone with a wondrous 

grace ; 
But, when she turned to introduce her guest 
To Art, behold, she foimd an empty place, 
The goddess fled, with sad, averted face. 



POEMS OF LOVE. 27 



ONE WOMAN'S HISTORY. 



"The maiden free, the maiden wed. 

Can never, never be the same, 
A new life springs from out the dead. 

And with the speaking of a name — 
A breath upon the marriage bed, 
She finds herself a something new. 



"Where lay the shallows of the maid 
No plummet line the wife can sound ; 
Where round the sunny islands played 

The pulses of the great profound 
Lies low the treacherous everglade. 



'A wife is like an unknown sea, 

Least known to him who thinks he knows 
Where all the shores of Promise be, 

And where the islands of Repose — 
And where the rocks that he must flee." 



28 POEMS OF LOVE. 



WHY THE SPRING IS LATE. 



To Miss Eva Russell. 

The spring time is deaf to our pleading, 

The meadows are brown as can be. 
The hilltops are bleak and unlovely, 

No thrush sits and sings on the tree. 
I hear many practical people 

Explain why the spring loiters so, 
But, dear one, they all are mistaken: 

The true reason I alone know. 



The South-wind, Spring's hand-maiden, told me 

Her mistress declared, o'er and o'er, 
That, till you were here to give greeting, 

She'd visit our prairies no more. 
And all her vast household stand by her! 

The thrush says he cannot come here 
And sing the old songs that you loved so, 

Unless you are lingering near. 



The wild pinks that rival your blushes. 

The violets blue as the slrv, 
Declare it no pleasure to blossom 



POEMS OF LOVE. 29 

Unseen by your beautiful eye. 
Oh darling! I'm loath to upbraid you, 

So come without further delay. 
Each moment you linger, remember 

You are keeping the spring time away. 
Then come ! we are waiting to welcome 

The birds and the flowers, 'tis true; 
But warmer than all is the welcome, 

Fair girl, that is waiting for you. 



30 P0E3IS OF LOVE. 



RIVER AND SEA. 



Under the light of the silver moon, 

We two sat, when our hearts were young; 

The night was warm with the breath of June, 
And loud from the meadow the cricket sung, 

And darker and deeper, oh love, than the sea, 

Were your dear eyes^ as they beamed on me. 



The moon hung clear, and the night was still; 

The Avaters reflected the glittering skies; 
The nightingale sang on the distant hill; 

But sweeter than all was the light in your eyes — 
Your dear, dark eyes, your eyes like the sea — 
And up from the depths shone love for me. 



My heart, like a river, was mad and wild — 
And a river is not deep, like the sea ; 

But I said your love was the love of a child. 
Compared with the love that was felt by me; 

A river leaps noisily, kissing the land, 

But the sea is fathomless, deep and grand. 



POEMS OF LOVE. 31 

I vowed to love you, for ever and ever; 

I called you cold, on that night in June, 
But my fierce love, like a reckless river, 

Dashed on, and away, and was spent too soon ; 
While yours — ah, yours was deep like the sea; 
I cheated you, love, but you died for me ! 



32 POEMS OF LOVE. 



LOVE. 



In all earth's music, grand, or sweet, or strong, 
To hear one name, as if 'twere set in song. 

In all my poems, written 'neath the sun, 
To find the praises, o'er and o'er, in one. 

To feel thyself a lesser part of what 
Hadst thou not found, the earth would be as 
naught. 

To think all beauty, perfectness and grace, 
As but the shadow of one worshiped face. 

With that face's coming, to bask in warmth and 

light 
And with its going to grope, as in the night. 

To rather feel a dear hand's stinging blow 
Than any caress another might bestow. 

To rather sit in gloom, and hear one voice 
Than, missing that, on mountain tops rejoice. 

To lose all individual hope and aim, 
And have no wish, but for another's fame. 



POEMS OF LOVE. 33 

To count grief naught, though great, if one is glad. 
To feel no joy if that dear one is sad. 

Do thy heart strings, responsive, answer this? 
Then thou hast known true love in all its bliss. 



34 POEMS OF LOVE. 



IN THE GARDEN. 



One moment alone in the garden, 

Under the August skies; 
The moon had gone but the stars shone on, — 

Shone like your beautiful eyes. 
Away from the glitter and gaslight. 

Alone in the garden there, 
While the mirth of the throng, in laugh and song, 

Floated out on the air. 



You looked down through the starlight. 

And I looked up at you ; 
And a feeling came that I could not name,- 

Something strange and new. 
Friends of a few weeks only, — 

Why should it give me pain 
To know you would go on the morrow, 

And would not come again? 



Formal friends of a season. 

What matter that we must part? 

But under the skies, Math a swift surprise, 
Each read the other's heart. 



POEMS OF LOVE. 35 

We did not speak, but your breath on my cheek 

Was like a breeze of the south; 
And your dark hair brushed my forehead 

And your kiss fell on my mouth. 



Some one was searching for me, — 

Some one to say good-night; 
And we went in from the garden, 

Out of the sweet starlight. 
Back to tlie glitter and music, 

And we said "Good-bye" in the hall, 
When a dozen heard and echoed the word, 

And then — well, that was all. 



The river that rolls between us 

Can never be crossed, I know, 
For the waters are deep and the shores are steep, 

And a maelstrom whirls below; 
But I think we shall always remember, 

Though we both may strive to forget. 
How you looked in my eyes, 'neath the August 
skies, 

After the moon had set; — 



How you kissed my lips in the garden, 
And we stood in a trance of bliss. 

And our hearts seemed speaking together 
In that one thrilling kiss. 



36 POEMS OF LOVE. 



WHEN YOU GO AWAY. 



"When you go away, my friend, 
When you say your last good-bye, 

Then the summer time will end, 
And the winter will be nigh. 



Though the green grass decks the heather. 

And the birds sing all the day, 
There will be no summer weather 

After you have gone away. 



When I look into your eyes, 
I shall thrill with sharpest pain. 

Thinking that beneath the skies 
I may never look again. 



You will feel a moment's sorrow, 
I shall feel a lasting grief ; 

You forgetting on the morro^^ 
I to mourn with no relief. 



POEMS OF LOVE. 37 



When we say the last sad word, 
And you are no longer near, 

And the winds and all the birds 
Cannot keep the summer here, 



Life will lose its full completeness- 
Lose it not for you, but me; 

All the beauty and the sweetness 
Each can hold, I shall not see. 



38 POEMS OF LOVE. 



LINES ON H 'S FOOT. 



It may be you've seen her eyes, 
Dark and deep like midnight skies ; 
You mayhap have seen them flash 
Underneath the drooping lash, 
And been dazzled by the light 
Of those orbs, so dark and bright ; 
But — have you seen her foot, 
In its little gaiter boot? 



Tou have noticed, maybe, how 
The lily spreads from chin to brow. 
You have thought her cheek more fair 
Than if roses lingered there; 
(Roses would seem out of place 
On her pale patrician face) 
But — again I question you. 
Have you seen her tiny shoe? 



You have thought her mouth, no doubt, 

Like a blush-rose half blown out ; 

Small and sweet, withal, beside, 

Touched with scorn and curved with pride; 



POEMS OF LOVE. 39 



(Innate pride — not meant to chill) - 
You have seen it there, and still — 
Answer one more question, pray — 
Have you seen her boot ? I say. 



Such a tiny, tiny thing. 

Is that foot of which I sing; 

No. 3 would hide it so 

It could not be found, I know. 

No. 2 must stand aside 

All too long and large and wide, 

No. 1 rmist be the boot 

For this maiden's little foot. 



You may envy, sir, the clerk 
In the shoe-store, hard at work, 
Who tries the gaiter boot 
On this cunning little foot. 
On his knee, supporting it, 
Saying, "It's a perfect fit," 
Buttoning on the No. 1, 
Looking sorry, when it's done. 



You have seen her, slight and neat, 
As she tripped along the street. 
You have heard the pit-pat-fall 
Of that foot so very small. 



40 POEMS OF LOVE. 

That she's fair, and pure, and good, 
Bright, and sweet is understood. 
But — have you seen that foot — 
In its dainty gaiter boot ? 



POEMS OF LOVE. 41 



A BABY IN THE HOUSE. 



I knew that a baby was hid in that house, 

Though I saw no cradle and heard no cry ; 
But the husband was tip-toeing 'round like a 
mouse, 
And the good wife was humming a soft lullaby ; 
And there was a look on the face of the mother, 
That I knew could mean only one thing, and no 
other. 



The mother, I said to myself, for I knew 

That the woman before me was certainly that ; 

And there lay in the corner a tiny cloth shoe. 
And I saw on a stand such a wee little hat ; 

And the beard of the husband said, plain as could 
be, 

' ' Two fat chubby hands have been tugging at me. ' ' 



And he took from his pocket a gay picture-book, 
And a dog that would bark, if you pulled on a 
string ; 
And the wife laid them up, with such a pleased 

look; 



42 POEMS OF LOVE. 

And I said to myself, ' ' There is no other thing 
But a babe that could bring about all this, and so 
That one is in hiding here somewhere, I know. ' ' 



I stayed but a moment, and saw nothing more, 
And heard not a sound, yet I know I was right; 

What else could the shoe mean that lay on the 
floor, 
The book and the toy, and the faces so bright ; 

And what made the husband as still as a mouse ? 

I am sure, very sure, there's a babe in that house. 



POEMS OF LOVE. 43 



RESIGNED. 



My babe was moaning in its sleep, 
I leaned and kissed it where it lay, 

My pain was such I could not weep, 
Oh, would God take my child away? 

He had so many round his throne — 

If He took mine — I stood alone ! 



I took my child upon my knee ; 

It looked up with its father's eyes, 
Who, ere the infant came to me. 

Had journeyed homeward to the skies, 
But through those eyes, so sad and mild, 
I found my husband, in my child. 



It was such comfort, night and day. 
To watch its slumber, — feel its breath- 

And slow — so slow — it pined away, 
I heard not the approach of Death 

Until he stood close at my side. 

And then my soul within me died. 

I clasped my babe with sudden moan, 
I cried, "My sweet, thou shalt not go 



44 POEMS OF LOVE. 

To join the children round the Throne, 

For I have need of thee below. 
If God takes thee, I am bereft — 
No hope or joy or comfort left." 

My babe looked pleading in my face, 
It seemed my husband's eyes instead, 

And his voice sounded in the place, 
"I want my child in heaven," it said. 

The infant raised its little hands, 

And seemed to reach toward heavenly lands. 

The tears that had refused to flow 
Came welling upward from my heart, 

I sobbed, "My child, then thou may'st go, 
Thy angel father bids us part. 

I know in all that heavenly place 

He ne'er looked on so sweet a face. 



"He journeyed on, before thou came — 

And all these months, he's longed for thee. 

How could I so forget his claim — 
And strive to keep thee at my knee. 

Go, child — my child — and give him this — 

In one the wife's and mother's kiss." 



My baby smiled, and seeming slept, 
Its hand grew cold within my own. 



POEMS OF LOVE. 45 



Not wholly sad the tears I wept 

For though I was indeed alone, 
My babe I knew was safe at rest 
Upon its angel father's breast. 



46 POEMS OF LOVE. 



IN FAITH. 



When the soft sweet wind o' the south went by, 
I dwelt in the light of a dark brown eye; 
And out where the robin sang his song, 
We lived and loved, while the days were long. 



In the sweet, sweet eves, when the moon swun^ 

high, 
We wandered under the starry sky ; 
Or sat in the porch, and the moon looked through 
The latticed wall, where the roses grew. 



My lips, that had known no lover's kiss, 
You taught the art, till they thrilled in bliss ; 
And the moon, and the stars, and the roses knew 
That the heart you won was pure and true. 



But true hearts weary men, maybe, 

For you grew weary of love, and me. 

Over the porch the dead vines hang, 

And a mourning dove sobs where the robin sang. 



P0E3IS OF LOVE. 47 

In a warmer clime does another sigh 
Under the light of your dark brown eye ? 
Did you follow the soft sweet wind o ' the south 
And are you kissing a redder mouth? 



Lips may be redder, and eyes more bright ; 
The face may be fairer you see to-night ; 
But never, love, while the stars shall shine; 
Will you find a heart that is truer than mine. 



Sometime, perhaps, when south winds blow, 
You will think of a love you used to know ; 
Sometime, perhaps, when a robin sings. 
Your heart will go back to olden things. 



Sometime you will weary of this world's arts, 
Of deceit and change and hollow hearts. 
And, wearying, sigh for the "used to be," 
And your feet will turn to the porch, and me. 



I shall watch for you here when days grow long; 
I shall list for your step through the robin's song; 
I shall sit in the porch where the moon looks 

through. 
And a vacant chair will wait — for you. 



48 POEMS OF LOVE. 

You may stray, and forget, and rove afar, 
But my changeless love, like the polar star, 
Will draw you at length o 'er land and sea — 
And I know you will yet come back to me. 



The years may come, and the years may go, 
But sometime again, when south winds blow, 
When roses bloom, and the moon swings high, 
I shall live in the light of your dark bro-una eye. 



POEMS OF LOVE. 49 



I TOLD YOU. 



I told you the winter would go, love, 

I told you the winter would go. 
That he'd flee in shame when the south wind came, 

And you smiled Avhen I told you so. 
You said the blustering fellow 

Would never yield to a breeze. 
That his cold, icy breath had frozen to death 

The flowers, and birds, and trees. 

And I told you the snow would melt, love, 

In the passionate glance o' the sun; 
And the leaves o' the trees, and the flowers and 
bees, 

Would come back again, one by one. 
That the great, gray clouds would vanish. 

And the sky turn tender and blue; 
And the sweet birds would sing, and talk of the 
spring. 

And, love, it has all come true. 

I told you that sorrow would fade, love, 
And you would forget half your pain; 

That the sweet bird of song would waken ere long, 
And sing in your bosom again; 



50 POEMS OF LOVE. 

That hope would creep out of the shadows, 
And back to its nest in your heart, 

And gladness would come, and find its old home, 
And that sorrow at length would depart. 



I told you that grief seldom killed, love, 

Though the heart might seem dead for awhile. 
But the world is so bright, and so full of warm 
light 

That 'twould waken at length, in its smile. 
Ah, love ! was I not a true prophet ? 

There's a sweet happy smile on your face; 
Your sadness has flown — the snow-drift is gone, 

And the buttercups bloom in its place. 



POEMS OF LOVE. 51 



LOST. 



You left me with the autumn time ; 

When winter stripped the forest bare, 
Then dressed it in his spotless rime ; 

When frosts were lurking in the air 
You left me here and went away. 
The winds were cold; you could not stay. 

You sought a warmer clime, until 

The south wind, artful maid, should break 
The winter's trumpets, and should fill 

The air with songs of birds ; and wake 
The sleeping blossoms on the plain 
And make the brooks to flow again. 

I thought the winter desolate. 

And all times felt a sense of loss. 

I taught my longing heart to wait, 

And said, "When spring shall come across 

The hills, with blossoms in her track. 

Then she, our loved one, will come back." 

And now the hills with grass and moss 

The spring with cunning hands has spread, 
And yet I feel my grievous loss. 



52 P0EM8 OF LOVE. 

My heart will not be comforted, 
But crieth daily, ' ' Where is she 
You promised should come back to me?' 



Oh, love! where are you! day by day; 

I seek to find you, but in vain. 
Men point me to a grave, and say: 

"There is her bed upon the plain." 
But though I see no trace of you, 
I cannot think their words are true. 



You were too sweet to wholly pass 

Away from earth, and leave no trace; 

You were too fair to let the grass 
Grow rank and tall above your face. 

Your voice, that mocked the robin's trill, 

I cannot think is hushed and still. 



I thought I saw your golden hair, 

One day, and reached to touch a strand; 

I found but yellow sunbeams there — 
The bright rays fell aslant my hand 

And seemed to mock, with lights and shades. 

The silken meshes of your braids. 

Again, I thought I saw your hand 

"Wave, as if beckoning to me; 
I found 'twas but a lily, fanned 



POEMS OF LOVE. 53 



By the cool zephyrs from the sea. 
Oh, love! I find no trace of you — 
I wonder if their words were true? 



One day I heard a singing voice; 

A burst of music, trill on trill. 
It made my very soul rejoice ; 

My heart gave an exultant thrill. 
I cried, ' ' Oh heart, we 've f oiuid her — hush ! ' 
But no — 'twas the silver- throated thrush. 



And once I thought I saw your face, 
And wild with joy I ran to you ; 

But found, when I had reached the place, 
'Twas but a blush rose, bathed in dew. 

Ah, love ! I think you must be dead ; 

And I believe the words they said. 



54 POEMS OF LOVE. 



ONLY A SAD MISTAKE. 



Only a blunder — a sad mistake; 

All ray own fault and mine alone. 
The saddest error a heart can make ; 

I was so young, or I would have known. 



Only his rare, sweet, tender smile ; 

Only a lingering touch of his hand. 
I think I was dreaming all the while, 

The reason I did not understand. 



Yet, somewhere, I 've read men woo this way ; 

That eyes speak, sometimes, before the tongue. 
And I was sure he would speak some day; 

Pardon the folly — I was so young. 

Was 1, say — for now I am old! 

So old, it seems like a hundred years 
Since I felt my heart growing hard and cold 

With a pain too bitter and deep for tears. 



I saw him lean over the stranger's chair, 

With a warm, new light in his beautiful eyes; 



POEMS OF LOVE. 55 

And I woke from my dreaming, then and there, 
And went out of my self-made Paradise. 



He never loved me — I know, I see ! 

Such sad, sad blunders as young hearts make. 
She did not win him away from me, 

For he was not mine. It was my mistake. 

A woman should wait for a man to speak 
Before she dreams of his love, I own; 

But I was a girl — girls' hearts are weak; 
And the pain, like the fault, is mine alone. 



POEMS OF LOVE. 



SONG OF THE WHEELMAN. 



Over my desk in a dark office bending. 

Dim seems the sunlight and dull seems the day; 
But when the afternoon draws toward an ending, 

Here waits my steel steed — I mount, and away ! 
Like cobwebs of silver I see in the distance 

The glint of bright wheels, I must follow and 
find. 
What life in the air now ! what zest in existence, 

As faster and faster I race with the wind 



Down the smooth pavements, and out toward the 
heather — 
Ho! fellows, ho! I am coming you see! 

Breast to breast, now let us speed on together — 
Who dares try mounting that hillside with me? 

Over the bridge I go — past the green meadows, 
Au revoir, boys, T will ride on alone ! 

For in yon cottage half hid in the shadows, 
Waiting for me, is my sweetheart — my own. 

She watches my wheel as it glitters and glistens 
Down the steep crest of the daisy-starred hill. 



POEMS OF LOVE. 57 

Fair is her cheek as she waits there and listens 
For the sure signal blown tenderly shrill. 

Sweetheart, my sweetheart, I'm coming, I'm com- 
ing. 
Here, sturdy steed, you may stand by the wall. 



A bird to her mate has flown swift thro ' the gloam- 
ing, 
Love, youth and summer, thank God for them all. 



58 POEMS OF LOVE. 



"THE OLD MOON IN THE NEW 
MOON'S ARMS." 



The beautiful and slender young New Moon, 
In trailing robes of pink and palest blue, 

Swept close to Venus, and breathed low : "A boon 
A precious boon, I ask, dear friend, of you. 



"0 queen of light and beauty, you have known 
The pangs of love — its passions and alarms; 

Then grant me this one favor, let my own — 
My lost Old Moon be once more in my arms. ' ' 



Swift thro' the vapors and the golden mist — 
The Full Moon's shadowy shape shone on the 
night, 
The New Moon reached out clasping arms and 
kissed 
Her phantom lover in the whole world's sight. 



POEMS OF LOVE. 59 



THE SOUL'S FAREWELL TO THE 
BODY. 



So we must part forever. And although 
I long have beat my wings and cried to go 
Free from your narrow limits and control, 
Forth into space, the true home of the soul; 



Yet now, yet now that hour is drawing near, 
I paused reluctant, finding you so dear. 
All joys await me in the realm of God; 
Must you, my comrade, moulder in the sodi 



I was your captive, yet you were my slave; 
Your prisoner, yet obedience you gave 
To all my earnest wishes and commands. 
Now to the worm I leave those willing hands 



That toiled for me, or held the book I read. 
Those feet that trod where'er I bade them tread, 
Those arms that clasped my dear ones, and the 

breast 
On which one loved and loving heart found rest. 



60 POEMS OF LOVE. 

Those lips thro' which my prayers to God have 

risen, 
Those eyes that were the windows of my prison. 
From these, all these, Death's angel bids me sever, 
Dear Comrade Body, fare you well forever. 



I go to my inheritance; and go 

With joy that only the freed soul can know; 

Yet, in my spirit journeyings I trust 

I may sometimes pause near your sacred dust. 



POEMS OF LOVE. 61 



LONG AGO. 



I loved a maiden, long ago, 

She held within her hand my fate; 
And in the ruddy sunset glow 

We lingered at the garden gate. 



The splendor of the western skies 

Lay in a halo on her hair. 
I gazed with worship in her eyes, 

And deemed her true and knew her fair. 



"Good night," I said, and turned away; 

She held me with her subtle smile. 
I saw her red lips whisper ' ' stay, ' ' 

And so I lingered yet awhile. 



' ' I love you, love you, sweet ! " I said, 
She laughed, and whispered, ' ' I love you. ' 

I kissed her small mouth, ripe and red, 
And knew her fair, and deemed her true 



62 POEMS OF LOVE. 

'Twas very, very long ago, 
And I was young, and so was she ; 

My faith as love was strong, for oh! 
The maid was all the world to me. 



But as the sunset died away 

And left the heavens cold and blue. 

So died my dream of love one day. 
The maid was only fair, not true. 



FOEMS OF LOVE. 63 



TAKE MY HAND. 



Strengthen me for every contest, 

Let my prayers be not in vain, 
I would bless Thee, in my sorrow; 

I would glory in my pain; 
Make my spirit white — for heaven; 

Let my soul be purified 
In the blood that flowed so freely, 

From the wound in Jesus' side. 



Gird my soul, oh ! God ! for battle, 

I am weak, ! make me strong ; 
Do not let my courage falter, 

Though the strife be fierce and long; 
And upon thy hand, my Father, 

Let me keep a clinging hold. 
Till my feet have landed safely, 

In the city built of gold. 



64 P0E3I8 OF LOVE. 



THE WILD BLUE-BELLS. 



Came a bouquet from the city, 
Fragrant, rich and debonair — 

Sweet carnation and geranium, 
Heliotrope and roses rare. 



Down beside the crystal river. 

Where the moss-grown rocks are high, 
And the ferns, from niche and crevice. 

Stretch to greet the azure sky; 



In the chaste October sunlight. 
High above the path below. 

Grew a tuft of lovely blue-bells, 
Softly wind-swung to and fro. 



Reached a dainty hand to grasp them, 
Bore them home with loving care, 

Tenderly and proudly placed them 
'Mid the flowers so sweet and fair. 



POEMS OF LO VE. 65 



But my timid little blue-bells, 
Children of the leafy wild, 

Dazzled by their city sisters. 

Turned away and, tearful, smiled. 



When, alone, I bent to kiss them, 
Pleadingly they sighed to me, 

"Take us, when we die, we pray thee^ 
Back beneath the dear old tree. 



"We would sleep where first the sunshine 

Kissed us in the dewy morn ; 
Where, while soft, warm zephyrs fanned us, 

Leaf and bud and flower were born." 



So I bore them, when they faded. 
Back to where love sighed for them; 

Laid them near the ferns and mosses, 
'Neath the dear old parent stem; — 



Deeply grieved that all things lovely 
Must so soon forever die, — 

That upon the gentle blue-bells 
Winter's cold, deep snows must lie. 



66 POEMS OF LOVE. 

And I half arraigned the goodness 
That made Death king everywhere 

Stretching forth his cruel sceptre — 
Lord of sea, and earth, and air. 



Summer came, and all the hillsides 
Wore a shim 'ring robe of green; 

And with rifts of sky and cloudlet 
Flashed the river's golden sheen. 



I was walking the old pathway, 
When a tiny shout I heard; 

Harken! Avas it eliin fairy. 
Or some truant mocking bird? 



No ! a family of blue-bells 

Waved their slender arms on high. 
Clapped their tiny arms in triumph, 

Crying, ' ' See ! we did not die. 



"Never more distrust the Master, 
Love and Truth His ways attend; 

Death is but a darkened portal 
Of a life that ne'er shall end. 



P0E3IS OF LOVE. 67 

"Loved ones, parted from in anguish, 

Your glad eyes again shall see, — 
Brighter than the hopes you cherished 

Shall the glad fruition be." 



68 F0EM8 OF LOVE. 



A WAIF. 



My soul is like a poor caged bird to-niglit, 

Beating its wings against the prison bars, 
Longing to reach the outer world of light. 

And, all untrammeled, soar among the stars. 
Wild, mighty thoughts struggle within ray soul 
For utterance. Great waves of passion roll 
Through all my being. As the lightnings play 
Through thunder clouds, so beams of blinding light 
Flash for a moment on my darkened brain — 
Quick, sudde^i, glaring beams, that fade away 
And leave me in a darker, deeper night. 



Oh, poet souls ! that struggle all in vain 
To live in peace and harmony with earth, 

It cannot be ! They must endure the pain 
Of conscience and of unacknowledged worth. 

Moving and dwelling with the common herd, 
Whose highest thought has never strayed as far. 
Or never strayed beyond the horizon 's bar ; 

Whose narrow hearts and souls are never stirred 
With keenest pleasures, or with sharpest pain ; 
Who rise and eat and sleep, and rise again, 

Nor question why or wherefore. Men whose minds 

Are never shaken by wild passion winds; 



POEMS OF LOVE. 69 

Women whose broadest, deepest realm of thought 
The bridal veil will cover. 

Who see not 
God's mighty work lying undone to-day, — 
Work that a woman's hands can do as well, 
Oh, soul of mine ; better to live alway 
In this tumultous inward pain and strife, 
Doing the work that in thy reach doth fall, 
Weeping because thou canst not do it all; 
Oh, better, my soul, in this unrest to dwell, 
Than grovel as they grovel on through life. 



70 POEMS OF LOVE. 



A FACE AT THE WINDOW. 



Once as I wandered down the street 
I saw at the window a face so sweet; 
The tiny face of a baby girl 
With a soft clear eye, and a silken curl. 
And I looked o'er my shoulder again to see, 
The sweet, sweet face that smiled on me, 
With a look in the eyes that seemed to say 
* ' I have come from heaven but not to stay. ' ' 



Adown the street as I walked again 

I looked for the sweet, sweet face at the pane, 

But the blind was closed, and I heard it said 

As I passed along that the child was dead. 

And a lonely longing came over me 

For the face that had smiled in its baby glee 

On me for a moment, before it was hid 

Under the cruel coffin lid. 



happy baby, cherub girl ! 
Borne up out of the din and whirl, 
Out of the sorrow and saddened strife 
That burdens ever the brightest life. 



POEMS OF LOVE. 71 

Out of the darkness and out of the gloom 
A bud, in the garden of God to bloom; 
Safe from danger, and death and cold, 
Sheltered forever within the fold. 



What have you missed, dainty dove, 

By flying so soon to the realms above ? 

Missed earth's sorrows, and missed earth's fears; 

A woman's pains, and a woman's tears; 

The aching head, and the weary feet ; 

The bitter lees of a cup too sweet; 

Danger and sickness, and death and loss — 

And all the pleasures that are but dross. 



Sweet, sweet face, with the soulful eyes. 
Look from the windows of God's fair skies, 
Look with those beauteous orbs of thine 
And draw me nearer the things divine. 
Walking along life's troubled way, 
Let me look up, as I looked that day, 
And know that a fair and cherub face 
Smiles upon me through leagues of space. 



Help me to keep from the snares, my sweet. 
That lie unnumbered about my feet. 
Smile when I stumble, that I may rise 
Cheered by the light of thy lovely eyes. 



72 POEMS OF LOVE. 

Plead with the Father to make me strong, 
To keep my steps from the path of wrong, 
And when my journey of life is done 
May I see thy face, cherub one. 



POEMS OF LOVE. 73 



SEARCHING. 



These quiet Autumn days, 

My soul, like Noah's dove, on airy wings 
Goes out and searches for the hidden things 

Bevond the hills of haze. 



With mournful, pleading cries, 
Above the waters of the voiceless sea 
That laps the shore of broad Eternity, 

Day after day, it flies, 



Searching, but all in vain, 
For some stray leaf that it may light upon, 
And read the future, as the days agone — 

Its pleasures, and its pain. 



Listening patiently 

For some voice speaking from the mighty deep. 
Revealing all the things that it doth keep 

In secret there for me. 



Come back and wait, my soul! 

Day after day thy search has been in vain. 



74 POEMS OF LOVE. 

Voiceless and silent o'er the future's plain 
Its mystic waters roll. 



God, seeing, knoweth best, 
And in His time the waters shall subside, 
And thou shalt know what lies beneath the tide- 

Then wait, my soul, and rest. 



POEMS OF LOVE. 75 



OUR BLESSINGS. 



Sitting to-day in the sunshine, 

That touched me with fingers of love, 
I thought of the manifold blessings 

God scatters on earth, from above; 
And they seemed, as I numbered them over, 

Far more than we merit, or need, 
And all that we lack is the angels 

To make earth a heaven indeed. 



The winter brings long, pleasant evenings, 

The spring brings a promise of flowers 
That summer breathes into fruition. 

And autumn brings glad, golden hours. 
The woodlands re-echo with music, 

The moonbeams ensilver the sea; 
There is sunlight and beauty about us, 

And the world is as fair as can be. 



But mortals are always complaining. 

Each one thinks his own a sad lot; 
And forgetting the good things about him. 

Goes mourning for those he has not. 



76 FOEMS OF LOVE. 

Instead of the star-spangled heavens^ 
We look on the dust at our feet; 

We drain out the cup that is bitter, 
Forgetting the one that is sweet. 



We mourn o'er the thorn in the flower, 

Forgetting its odor and bloom; 
We pass by a garden of blossoms, 

To weep o'er the dust of the tomb. 
There are blessings unnumbered about us, — 

Like the leaves of the forest they grow; 
And the fault is our o^vn — not the Giver 's- 

That we have not an Eden below. 



POEMS OF LOVE. 77 



GOING AWAY. 



Walking to-day on the Common, 

I heard a stranger say- 
To a friend who was standing near him, 

"Do you know I am going away?" 
I had never seen their faces, 

May never see them again; 
Yet the words the stranger uttered, 

Stirred me with nameless pain. 



For I knew some heart would miss him. 

Would ache at his "going away!" 
And the earth would seem all cheerless 

For many and many a day. 
No matter how light my spirits, 

No matter how glad my heart. 
If I hear those two words spoken, 

The teardrops always start. 



They are so sad and solemn. 
So full of a lonely sound; 

Like dead leaves rustling downward, 
And dropping upon the ground. 



78 P0E3IS OF LOVE. 

Oh, I pity the naked branches, 

When the skies are dull and gray, 

And the last leaf whispers softly, 
"Good bye, I am going away." 



In the dreary, dripping autumn. 

The wings of the flying birds, 
As they soar away to the south htud, 

Seem always to say those words. 
Wherever they may be spoken. 

They fall with a sob and sigh; 
And heartaches follow the sentence, 

"I am going away Good bye." 



Oh God, in Thy blessed kingdom, 

No lips shall ever say, 
No ears shall ever harken 

To the words "I am going away," 
For no soul ever wearies 

Of the dear, bright angel land, 
And no saint ever wanders 

From the sunny golden land. 



POEMS OF LOVE. 79 



BE NOT WEARY. 



Sometimes, when I am toil-worn and aweary, 

All tired out with working lonj^ and well, 
And earth is dark, and skies above are dreary. 

And heart and soul are all too sick to tell, 
These words have come to me like angel fingers 

Pressing the spirit's eyelids down in sleep, 
"Oh let us not be weary in well doing, 

For in due season we shall surely reap." 



Oh blessed promise ! When I seem to hear it. 

Whispered by angel voices on the air. 
It breathes new life and courage to my spirit. 

And gives me strength to suffer and forbear. 
And I can wait most patiently for harvest, 

And cast my seeds, nor ever faint, nor weep, 
If I know surely that ray work availeth. 

And in God's season, I at last shall reap. 



When mind and body were borne down completely, 
And I have thought my efforts were all in vain, 

These words have come to me so softly, sweetly. 
And whispered hope, and urged me on again. 



80 POEMS OF LOVE. 

And though my labor seems all unavailing, 
And all my striving fruitless, yet the Lord 

Doth treasure up each little seed I scatter, 
And sometime, sometime, I shall reap reward. 



POEMS OF LOVE. 81 



GROWING OLD. 



Little by little the year g^-ows old, 

The red leaves drop from the maple houghs; 
The sun grows dim, and the winds blow cold, 

Down from the distant arctic seas. 



Out of the skies the soft light dies, 

And the shadows of autumn come creeping over. 
And the bee and the bird are no longer heard 

In grove or meadow, or field of clover. 



Little by little our lives grow old. 
Our faces no longer are fair to see; 

For gray creeps into the curls of gold. 

And the red fades out of the cheeks, ah me! 



And the birds that sang till our heart strings rang 
With strains of hope, and joy, and pleasure. 

Have flown away; and our hearts today 

Hear only the weird wind's solemn measure. 



82 POEMS OF LOVE. 

Youth and summer, and beauty and bloom, 
Droop and die in the autumn weather, 

But up from the gloom of the winter's tomb, 
They shall rise, in God's good time, together. 



POEMS OF LOVE. 83 



THE SUMMONS. 



Some day, when the golden glory 

Of June is over the earth, 
And the birds are singing together 

In a wild, mad strain of mirth; 
When the skies are as clear and cloudless 

As the skies of June can be, 
I would like to have the summons 

Sent down from God to me. 



Some glowing, golden morning 

In the heart of the summer time, 
As I stand in the perfect vigor 

And strength of my youth's glad prime; 
"When my heart is light and happy. 

And the world seems bright to me, 
I would like to drop from this earth life. 

As a green leaf drops from the tree. 



I would not wait for the furrows — 
For the faded eyes and hair; 

But pass out swift and sudden, 
Ere I grow heart-sick with care; 



84 POEMS OF LOVE. 

I would break some morn in my singing- 
Or fall in my springing walk 

As a full-blown flower will sometimes 
Drop, all a-bloom, from the stalk. 



I think the leaf would sooner 

Be the first to break away, 
Than to hang alone in the orchard 

In the bleak November day. 
And I think the fate of the flower 

That falls in the midst of bloom 
Is sweeter than if it lingered 

To die in the autumn's gloom. 



And so, in my youth's glad morning, 

While the summer walks abroad, 
I would like to hear the summons, 

That must come, sometime, from God. 
I would pass from the earth's perfection 

To the endless June above ; 
Prom the fullness of living and loving, 

To the noon of Immortal Love. 



P0EM8 OF WYE. 85 



CONVERSION. 



When this world's pleasures for my soul sufficed, 
Ere my heart's plummet sounded depths of pain, 
I called on Reason to control my brain. 

And scoffed at that old story of the Christ. 



But when o'er burning wastes my feet had trod. 
And all my life was desolate with loss, 
With bleeding hands I clung about the cross, 

And cried aloud, ' ' Man needs a suffering God ! ' ' 



86 POEMS OF LOVE. 



ONE WOMAN'S PLEA. 



Now God be with the men who stand 

In legislative halls, to-day. 
Those chosen princes of our land — 

May God be with them all, I say, 
And may His wisdom guide and shield them, 
For mighty is the trust we yield them. 

Oh men! who hold a people's fate. 
There in the hollow of your hand. 

Each word you utter, soon or late. 
Shall leave its impress on our land, — 

Forth from the halls of legislation. 

Shall speed its way through all our nation. 

Then, may the Source of Truth, and Light, 

Be ever o'er them, ever near. 
And may He guide each word aright; 

May no false precept greet the ear. 
No selfish love, for purse, or faction, 
Stay Justice's hand, or guide one action. 

And may no one, among these men 
Lift to his lips the damning glass, 



POEMS OF LOVE. 87 

Let no man say, with truth, again, 

What has been said, in truth, alas, 
' ' Men drink, in halls of legislation — 
Why shouldu 't we, of lower station 1 ' ' 

And may God's lasting curses fall 

On those who hint, or boldly say. 
That men have need of alcohol, 

Or that wine helps them, anyway. 
These imps of hell — for all who aid them 
May God's eternal curse upbraid them. 

Oh men ! you see, you hear this beast. 

This fiend that pillages the earth, 
Whose work is death — whose hourly feast, 

Is noble souls, and minds of worth — 
You see — and if you will not chain him, 
Nor reach one hand forth, to detain him, 

For God's sake, do not give him aid. 

Nor urge him onward. Oh, to me 
It seems so strange that laws are made 

To crush all other crimes, while he 
Wlio bears down through Hell's gaping portals 
The countless souls of rum-wrecked mortals 



Is left to wander, to and fro. 

In perfect freedom through the land, 



88 POEMS OF LOVE. 

And those who ought to see, and know, 

Will lift no warning voice or hand. 
Oh, men in halls of legislation, 
Rise to the combat, save the nation ! 



POEMS OF WYE. 89 



IF. 



If I were sent to represent 

A portion of a nation 
I would not chat, on this and that, 

In the halls of legislation. 
To show my power, I'd waste no hour 

In aimless talk and bother. 
Nor fritter away a precious day 

On this and that and the other. 



Whether the food a dog consumes 

Wouldn't make a porker fatter, 
And about a thousand useless things, 

Of no import or matter ; — 
Whether each day a man should pray 

For our welfare, or shouldn't. 
Now I do not say men do this way; 

I merely say I wouldn't! 



No! were I sent to represent 
A state, or town, or county, 

I'd do some good, and all I could, 
To earn the people's bounty. 



90 POEMS OF LOVE. 

Instead of a dog, or a fattening hog, 
I'd talk about men's drinking! 

And, with words of fire, I would inspire 
The stolid and unthinking. 



And the time that I might idly waste, 

(I don't say men do waste it,) 
I'd spend in pleading for my cause. 

And, with tongue and pen, I'd haste it 
.Through all the land, till a mighty band, 

With laws and legislation, 
Should cleanse the stain and cut the chain 

That binds our helpless nation. 



And little need would there be then, 

When that bright sun had risen, 
Of asylum wings or building sites — 

Of county or state prison. 
The need is made by the liquor trade ! 

Oh ye wise, sage law-makers, 
'Tis the friend you smile upon that makes 

Our madmen and law-breakers. 



"Two-thirds," so reads our State Report, 
"Are made insane by liquor!" 

And so I say, I 'd spend no day 
In idle chat and bicker 



POEMS OF LOVE. 91 

If I were sent to represent 

A portion of a nation; 
But I'd plead for laws, until my cause 

Was won through legislation. 



92 POEMS OF LOVE. 



A PLEA FOR FAME. 



Let those slander fame who will — 
Call her cheat and blame her ways. 

It may all be true ; and still 
I shall give her words of praise, 

She has been my faithful friend, 

True and constant to the end. 

Since I saw her hand first beckon 

Far above my lowly plain, 
I have had no need to reckon 

What my loss, or what my gain. 
She has made sweet blossoms blow 
In whatever path I go; 
She has made the dark ways light, 
Made the somber places bright; 
She has filled my empty cup 

Full to overflow with pleasure. 
And, though I may drink it up. 

She again refills the measure. 

She has never promised aught 
That she has not more than brought. 
She has stood by me in danger, 
Made a friend of many a stranger — 



POEMS OF LOVE. 93 

Made a welcome warm for me 
Whereso 'er my lot may be ; 
Thrown wide open many a door 
That was closed to me before; 
Given me every boon and blessing — 
Almost — that is worth possessing. 

All my life I never knew 
Any other friend so true. 
Youth and Love are fleeting things; 
Wealth has light and airy wings — 
Fame, once mine, will never flee, 
She has been a friend to me. 
Let who will condemn her ways, 
I shall always sing her praise. 



94 POEMS OF LOVE. 



A MOTHER'S WAIL. 



The sweet young spring walks over the earth, 

It flushes and glows on moor and lea ; 
The birds are singing in careless mirth — 

The brook flows cheerily on to the sea. 
And I know that the flowers are blooming now, 

Over my beautiful darling's brow; 
Blooming and blowing in perfume now 

Over my poor lost darling's brow. 



The breath of the passionate summer turns 

The green on the hills to a deeper dye. 
The wind from the southland blows and burns ; 

The sun grows red in the brazen sky ; 
And I know that the long, dark grasses wave 

Over my beautiful darling's grave; 
Rise and fall, and lift and wave 

Over my darling's narrow grave. 



The days flow on and the summer dies 
And glorious autumn takes the crown, 

And toward the south the robin flies, 
And the grass on the hiU grows dull and brown, 



POEMS OF LOVE. 95 

And the leaves, all gold, and purple, and red 
Drift over my precious darling's bed. 

Drift and flutter, all gold and red, 
Over my darling 's lonely bed. 



The winter comes with its chilling snow 

And wraps the world in a spotless shroud, 
And cold from the north the wild wind blows. 

And the tempest rages fierce and loud ; 
It shrieks, and sobs, and sighs, and weeps, 

Over the mound where my darling sleeps; 
lu pity it sobs, and sighs, and weeps 

Over the ground where my lost one sleeps. 



He was so young, and fair, and brave. 

The pride of my bosom, my heart 's best joy ; 
And he lieth now in a drunkard 's grave, — 

My beautiful darling — my only boy. 
But down in my heart of hearts I know 

He has gone where the tempter never can go. 
To heaven his soul has gone, I know. 

Where the souls of his tempters never can go. 



They charmed him into his licensed hell, 
They gave him rum, and his eye grew wild ; 

And lower and lower, down he fell, 

'Till they made a fiend of my precious child. 



96 P0EM8 OF LOVE. 

May the curses of God fall on the soul 
"Who gave my darling the poison bowl; 

Aye ! curses dark and deep on the soul 
Who tempted my darling to lift the bowl. 



POEMS OF LOVE. 97 



'THE SAME OLD STRAIN." 



Each day that I live I am persuaded anew, 
A maxim I long have believed in, is true. 
Each day I grow firmer in this, my belief, 
Strong drink causes half the world's trouble and 
grief. 

Do I take up a paper, I read of a fight, 
Tom's fist in his eye deprived Jamie of sight; 
Both fellows were drinking before it began, 
And drink made a brute of a peaceable man. 

Next, Jones kills his wife, such an awful affair ! 
She was throttled, and pounded, and drawn by the 

hair; 
Cause — "Jones had been drinking — not in his sane 

mind." 
(Few men are who tip up the bottle, I find.) 

Then, a man is assaulted and dirked in the dark 
By two "jolly boys" who are out on a "lark;" 
They have ever been peaceable boys — but, you see. 
They drank, and ' ' were hardly themselves ' ' on this 
spree. 



98 POEMS OF LOVE. 

Just over the street lives the man who is known 
To be honest and kind, when he lets drink alone ; 
But whenever he quaffs from the full, flowing bowl, 
He is more like a beast than a man with a soul. 



Next door lives the husband who frets at his wife ; 
With his temper and spleen, she's no peace of her 

life. 
Well I know — do you ? he muddles his head 
Every night with hot toddy, ere going to bed. 

"We temperance croakers harp on the same 

strain?" 
Well — the cause is one story again and again; 
Fights — tragedy — troubles — all stirred up by drink. 
Good reason we have to keep harping, I think. 



We harp to these words; strong drink drives the 

knife 
To the heart of a friend, and deprives him of life ; 
It turns sober boys into rowdies and knaves — 
It steals from the household to fill up the graves. 



Who loves it the most first falls by its art; 
It first wins its victim — then strikes to the heart. 
But one thing is certain — it never was known 
To do a man harm if he let it alone. 



POEMS OF LOVE. 99 



LIMITLESS. 



There is nothing, I hold, in the way of work 
That a human being may not achieve 

If he does not falter, or shrink or shirk. 
And more than all, if he will believe. 



Believe in himself and the power behind 
That stands like an aid on a dual ground, 
With hope for the spirit and oil for the wound, 

Ready to strengthen the arm or mind. 



When the motive is right and the will is strong 
There are no limits to human power; 

For that great force back of us moves along 
And takes us with it, in trial's hour. 



And whatever the height you yearn to climb, 
Tho' it never was trod by the foot of man. 
And no matter how steep — I say you can. 

If you will be patient — and use your time. 



100 F0EM8 OF LOVE. 



DENIED. 



The winds came out of the west one day, 

And hurried the clouds before them; 
And drove the shadows and mists away, 

And over the mountains bore them. 
And I wept, "Oh, wind, blow into my mind, 

Blow into my soul and heart. 
And scatter the clouds that hang like shrouds, 

And make the shadows depart." 



The rain came out of the leaden skies 

And beat on the earth's cold bosom. 
It said to the sleeping grass, * ' Arise, ' ' 

And the young buds sprang in blossom. 
And I wept in pain, "Oh, blessed rain, 

Beat into my heart to-day ; 
Thaw out the snows that are chilling it so, 

Till it blossoms in hope, I pray." 



The sunshine fell on the bare-armed trees, 

In a wonderful sheen of glory; 
And the young leaves rustled and sang to the 
breeze, 

And whispered a love-fraught story. 



POEMS OF LOVE. 101 

And "Sun, oh shine on this heart of mine, 

And woo it to life," I cried; 
But the wind, and sun, and rain, each one 

The coveted boon denied. 



102 POEMS OF LOVE. 



WARNED. 



They stood at the garden gate. 

By the lifting of a lid 
She might have read her fate 

In a little thing he did. 



He plucked a beautiful flower, 
Tore it away from its place 

On the side of the blooming bower 
And held it against his face. 



Drank in its beauty and bloom, 
In the midst of his idle talk ; 

Then cast it down to the gloom 
And dust of the garden walk. 



Aye, trod it under his foot, 
As it lay in his pathway there ; 

Then spurned it away with his boot, 
Because it had ceased to be fair. 



POEMS OF LOVE. 103 

Ah! the maiden might have read 
The doom of her young life then ; 

But she looked in his eyes instead, 
And thought him the king of men. 



She looked in his eyes and blushed, 
She hid in his strong arms ' fold ; 

And the tale of the flower, crushed 
And spurned, was once more told. 



104 POEMS OF LOVE. 



RICH AND POOR. 



By the castle-gate my lady stanas, 
Viewing broad acres and spreading lands. 

Hill and valley and mead and plain 

Are all her own, with their wealth of grain. 

In the richest of rich robes she is dressed, 
A jewel blazes upon her breast ; 

And her brow is decked with a diadem 
That glitters with many a precious gem. 

But what to the Lady Wendoline 
Rich satin garments or jewels fine ? 

Or ripening harvests, or spreading lands — 
See! she is wringing her milk-white hands! 

And her finger is stained with crimson dew 
Where the ring with the diamond star cut through. 

And a look of pain and wild despair 
Rests on the face, so young and fair. 



POEMS OF LOVE. 105 

To-morrow will be her bridal day, 
And she will barter herself away 

For added wealth and a titled name; 

'Tis the curse of her station, and whose the blame ! 

She loathes the man who will call her wife, 
And moans o'er her hapless, loveless life. 

The joys of wooing she cannot know ; 
My lord, her father^ has willed it so. 

She's a piece of merchandise, bought and sold 
For name, position, and bags of gold. 

But people must wed in their own degree, 
Though hearts may break in their agony. 

Under the hill, in the castle's shade, 
At a cottage door sits an humble maid; 

In her cheek the blushes come and go 
As she stitches away on a robe like snow; 

And she sings aloud in her happiness — 
In a joy she cannot hide or repress. 

Close at her side her lover stands, 
Watching the nimble, sun-browned hands 



106 POEMS OF LOVE. 



As they draw the needle to and fro 
Through the robe as white as drift of snow. 

Both hearts are singing a wordless lay, 
For the morrow will be their bridal day. 

They have only their hands, their love, their health. 
In place of title, position, and wealth. 

But which is the rich, and which the poor. 
The maid at the gate, or the maid in the door ? 



POEMS OF LOVE. 107 



OVER THE ALLEY. 



Here in my office I sit and write 

Hour on hour, and day on day, 
With no one to speak to from morn till night, 

Though 1 have a neighbor just over the way. 
Across the alley that yawns between 

A maiden sits sewing the whole day long; 
A face more lovely is seldom seen 

In hall or castle or country throng. 



Her curling tresses are golden brown; 

Her eyes, I think, are violet blue, 
Though her long, thick lashes are always down, 

Jealously hiding the orbs from view ; 
Her neck is slender, and round, and white. 

And this way and that way her soft hair blows, 
As there in the window, from morn till night. 

She sits in her beauty, and sings and sews. 



And I, in my office chair, lounge and dream. 
In an idle way, of a sweet "might be," 

While the maid at her window sews her seam, 
With never a glance or a thought for me. 



108 POEMS OF LOVE. 

Perhaps she is angry because I look 
So long and often across the way, 

Over the top of my ledger-book; 

But those stolen glances brighten the day. 



And I am blameless of any wrong; — 

She the transgressor, by sitting there 
And making my eyes turn oft and long 

To a face so delicate, pure and fair. 
Work is forgotten ; the page lies clean, 

Untouched by the pen, while hours go by. 
Oh, maid of the pensive air and mien ! 

Give me one glance from your violet eye. 



Drop your thimble or spool of thread 

Down in the alley, I pray, my sweet, 
Or the comb or ribbon from that fair head, 

That I may follow with nimble feet ; 
For how can I tell you my heart has gone 

Across the alley, and lingers there. 
Till I know your name, my beautiful one? 

How could I venture, and how could I dare? 



Just one day longer I'll wait and dream, 
And then, if you grant me no other way, 

I shall write you a letter: "Maid of the seam. 
You have stolen my property ; now give pay, 



P0EM8 OF WYE 109 

Beautiful robber and charming thief! 

Give but a glance for the deed you've done." 
Thus shall I tell you my loss and grief, 

Over the alley, my beautiful one. 



110 POEMS OF LOVE. 



AT THE WINDOW. 



Every morning, as I walk down 
From my dreary lodgings, toward the town, 
I see at a window, near the street. 
The face of a woman, fair and sweet. 
With soft brown eyes and chestnut hair. 
And red lips, warm with the kiss left there. 
And she stands there as long as she can see 
The man who walks just ahead of me. 



At night, when I come from my office down town. 
There stands the woman with eyes of brown, 
Smiling out through the window blind 
At the man who is walking just behind. 



This fellow and I resemble each other — 
At least so I'm told by one and another, 
(Though I think I'm the handsomer far, of the 

two,) 
I don 't know him at all, save to ' ' how d 'ye do, ' ' 



Or nod when I meet him, I think he's at work 
In a dry goods store, as a salaried clerk. 



POEMS OF LOVE. Ill 

And I am a lawyer of high renown, 

Have a snug bank account and an ofSce down 

town, — • 
Yet I feel for that fellow an envious spite, 
(It has no other name, so I speak it outright.) 
There were symptoms before; but it's grown, I 

believe, 
Alarmingly fast, since one cloudy eve. 
When passing the little house close by the street, 
I heard the patter of two little feet. 
And a figure in pink fluttered down to the gate, 
And a sweet voice exclaimed, '*0h, Will, you are 

late ! 
And, darling, I've watched at the window until — 
Sir, I beg pardon ! I thought it was Will ! ' ' 



I passed on my way, with such a strange feeling 

Down in my heart. My brain seemed to be reel- 
ing; 

For, as it happens, my name, too, is Will, 

And that voice, crying "darling," sent such an 
odd thrill 

Throughout my whole being ! ' ' How nice it would 
be," 

Thought I, "If it were in reality me 

That she's watched and longed for, instead of that 
lout!" 

(It was envy that made me use that word, no 
doubt,) 



112 F0EM8 OF LOVE. 

For he's a fine fellow^ and handsome! — (ahem!) 

But then it's absurd that this rare little gem 

Of a woman should stand there and look out for 

him 
Till she brings on a headache, and makes her eyes 

dim, 
While I go to lodgings, dull, dreary and bare, 
With no one to welcome me, no one to care 
If I 'm early or late. No soft eyes of brown 
To watch when I go to, or come from the town. 



This bleak, wretched, bachelor life is about 
(If I may be allowed the expression) played out. 
Somewhere there must be, in this wide world, I 

think, 
Another fair woman who dresses in pink. 
And I know of a cottage, for sale, just below, 
And it has a French window in front, and — 

heighho ! 
I wonder how long, at the longest, 'twill be 
Before, coming home from the office, I'll see 
A nice, little woman there, watching for me. 



POEMS OF LOVE. 113 



ONLY A KISS. 



Once, when the summer lay on the hilltops, 

And the sunshine fell like a golden flame, 
Out from the city's dust and turmoil 

A gallant, fair-haired stranger came — 
Came to rest in our humble cottage 

Till the winds of autumn should blow again, 
To walk by the meadows and lie by the brooklet, 

And woo back the strength that the town had 
slain. 

I was yoimg, with the heart of a maiden 

That had never been wooed; and the stranger 
bland 
Awoke that heart from its idle dreaming. 

And swept the strings with a master hand. 
I remember the thrill and the first wild tremor 

That stirred its depth with a sweet surprise, 
When I glanced one day at the handsome stranger, 

And caught the gaze of his deep, dark eyes. 

My cheek grew red with its tell-tale blushes. 

And the knitting dropped from my nervous 
grasp ; 

He stooped, and then, as he gracefully gave it, 
He held my hand in a loving clasp. 



T14 POEMS OF LOVE. 

We said no word, but he knew my secret; 

He read what lay in my maiden heart ; 
No vain concealing was needed longer 

To liide the tremor his voice would start. 



We walked in the meadow and by the brooklet, 

My sun-brown hand in his snowy palm ; 
He said my blushes would shame the roses, 

And my heart stood still in a blissful calm. 
He stroked my tresses, my raven ringlets, 

And twined them over his fingers fair; 
My eye's dark splendor was full of danger, 

He said, for Cupid was lurking there. 



And once he held me close to his bosom, 

And pressed on my lips a laughing kiss; 
Oh! how I tremble with shame and anger. 

Pitiful now, as I think of this. 
But in that moment I thought that Heaven 

Had suddenly opened and drawn me in. 
And kissed with passion the lips so near me. 

Nor dreamed I was staining my soul with sin. 



But came a letter one quiet evening 

To the man that was dearer to me than life- 
"A picture," he said, as he tore it open, 

"Look, sweet friend, at my fair young wife," 



POEMS OF LOVE. 115 

A terrible anguish, a seething anger, 

Heaved in my bosom and blanched my cheek. 

And he who stood there holding the letter, 
He watched me smiling, but did not speak. 



I took the picture and gazed upon it — 

A sweet young creature with sunny hair* 
And eyes of blue. ' ' May the good Lord keep you, ' ' 

I said aloud, "In His tender care — 
You who are wedded and bound forever 

Unto this man" — and I met his eyes — 
"This soulless villain, this shameless coward. 

Whose heart is black with acted lies ! ' ' 



My heart swelled full of a terrible hatred, 

And something of murder was burning there. 
But a better feeling stole in behind it, 

As I looked on the picture sweet and fair. 
I turned and left him, and never saw him — 

Nor looked on his startled face again — 
And time has tempered my shame and sorrow, 

And soothed and quieted down my pain. 



But I always tremble, in awful anger, 
That wears and worries my waning life, 

When I think how he clasped me close to his bosom, 
He — with a lawfully wedded wife ! — 



116 POEMS OF LOVE. 

When I think how I answered his light caresses, 
And clung to his neck in a trance of bliss, 

And the tears of a lifetime and all my sorrow 
Can never remove the stain of his kiss. 



POEMS OF LOVE, 111 



MY SHIP. 



If all the ships I have at sea 
Should come a sailing home to me, 
Laden with precious gems and gold, 
Ah, well! the harbor could not hold 
So many sails as there would be, 
If all my ships came in from sea. 

If half my ships came home from sea. 

And brought their precious freight to me, 

Ah, well ! I should have wealth as great 

As any king who rules in state, 

So rich the treasures that would be 

In half my ships now out at sea. 

If just one ship I have at sea 

Should come a sailing home to me, 

Ah, well ! the storm clouds then might frown ; 

For if the others all went down. 

Still rich, and proud, and glad, I'd be 

If that one ship came back to me. 

If that one ship went down at sea, 
And all the others came to me, 



118 POEMS OF LOVE. 

Weighed down with gems and wealth untold, 
With glory, honor, riches, gold — 
The poorest soul on earth I'd be 
If that one ship came not to me. 



skies, be calm ! winds, blow free ! 
Blow all my ships safe home to me ; 
But if thou sendest some a-wraek 
To never more come sailing back, 
Send any — all that skim the sea, 
But bring my love-ship home to me. 



F0EM8 QF LOVE. 119 



FINIS. 



An idle rhyme of the summer time, 
Sweet, and solemn, and tender; 

Fair with the haze of the moon's pale rays, 
Bright with the sunset's splendor. 



Summer and beauty over the lands — 

Careless hours of pleasure ; 
A meeting of eyes and a touching of hands — 

A change in the floating measure. 



A deeper hue in the skies of blue, 
Winds from the tropics blowing; 

A softer grace on the fair moon's face, 
And the summer going, going. 



The leaves drift down, the green grows brown, 

And tears with smiles are blended ; 
A twilight hour and a treasured flower, — 

And now the poem is ended. 



120 POEMS OF LOVE. 



LINES. 

"Written by Request of the Proprietors of Windsor 
Cheese Factory. 

Alas ! my muse is getting fast ; 

She uses slang, 'tis very clear. 
Last eve, as she was flying past, 

She whispered "Cheese it!" in my ear. 



I chided her with words like these: 
"You slangy jade, avaunt! go by!" 

Again she said. "You'd better cheese — 
The fact-ory you can't deny." 



I struck her with my pen and cried, 
"Away! you fill my breast with woe 

And bitter shame." She only sighed, 
"Oh, whey-er, whey-er shall I go?" 



"You talk more like a pilot man" 
Said I, "than like a poet's muse. 

Said she, "I'll seek the vat-I-can, 
But I will fly from such abuse." 



POEMS OF LOVE. 121 

Quoth I, "What's turned your silly head? 

I was but jesting, anyway." 
"My blood is curdling now," she said. 

* ' But if you press it, I will stay. ' ' 



Some sage advise I gave her then, 
And boxed her ears, the wicked tease, 

And I told her she could cut it ; when 
I sat down to sing of cheese. 



Cheese, lively subject of a poet's dream. 

My thoughts go skipping through the tender 

theme. 
Venerable topic, old as the hills, I sing, 
Yet ever new, and green, like love, and spring. 



Cheese, savory subject! let me weave a song 
Out of my merits, musical and strong. 
Others may sing of green grass, if they please, 
I sing of it in the useful form of cheese. 



The world keeps moving. Now, it's upside down. 
Time was, when pretty maidens of each town 
Made all the cheese; and while they pressed the 

curds, 
Their lovers pressed their suits, in earnest words. 



122 POEMS OF LOVE. 

Now men make cheese, and press it, and their 

wives 
And daughters worry and torment their lives, 
By pressing their suits, new spring suits, the while. 
And asking for money, to dress out in style. 



Strong-minded sisters, what more can you ask? 
Man takes, himself, the burden of your task. 
And you enjoy the proceeds, and your "rights," 
For which each woman of the period fights. 



Hail! Windsorburgh ; may your cheese prove the 

limb 
You'll walk forth on, in sight of all the world. 
And may the fame of Limburg yet grow dim, 
"When once your banner is unfurled. 



Hail ! Windsor enterprise, pluck, pride, ambition 
Ignoring scoffs, defying competition. 
Providence smiles upon your latest plan, 
And soaks the grass, to help you all it can. 



Three cheers for Windsor, factory and all, 
Upon its homes may choicest blessings fall. 
And so my song is ended ; if you please, 
Will Mr. Sherman — E, P. — pass the cheese? 



POEMS OF LOVE. 123 



OVER THE WATER. 



Think of it, think of it over the water 

Thousands of men to-day march on to death, 

Think how the sun shines on fields red with slaugh- 
ter — • 
How the air chokes, with the cannon's hot breath. 

How in the shadows, perchance, of this even, 

Hundreds of hearts, will have paused in their 
beat. 
Pale, ghastly brows, will be turned up to heaven — 
Brows that were pressed by lips, tender and 
sweet. 



Think of the homes that these battles are leaving 
Destitute, desolate, dreary and dumb. 

Think of the fond, patient, hearts that are grieving, 
Breaking for loved ones, who never will come. 

Ah! we so recently felt this same anguish. 
Women — Oh ! women who suffer and pray. 

We well can weep with you, who weep and lan- 
guish. 
We have borne all you are bearing to-day. 



124 POEMS OF LOVE. 



' * God speed the right, ' ' we cry, ' ' God be with Prus- 
sia, ' ' 

Yet to the mourners of soldiers who fall, 
"Whether their tears jflow in France, or in Russia, 

Their dead are their dead, and we pity them all. 



Think of it, think of it, hearts that are breaking. 

Sorrowing, suffering, over the sea. 
Think of the eyes that are blinded and aching 

With watching for those whom they never will 
see. 



POEMS OF LOVE. 125 



FLOWERS FOR THE BRAVE. 



Gather them out of the valley — 

Bring them from moorland and hill, 
And cast them in wreaths and in garlands 

On the city so silent and still — • 

So voiceless, and silent, and still: 
Where neighbor speaks never to neighbor 

Where the song of the bird and the brown bee 
is heard, 
But never the harsh sound of labor. 



Bring them from woodland and meadow — 

As fresh and as .fair as can be. 
Bring them, all kinds, and all colors, 

That grow upon upland and lea — 

That spring in wild grace on the lea, 
And rifle the green earth's warm bosom 

Of each flower, and blow till "God's acre" shall 
glow 
And bloom, like a garden in blossom. 



Bring them from vase and from hot-hoiTse, 

And strew them with bountiful hand. 
There is nothing too rare for the soldier. 



126 POEMS OF LOVE. 

Who laid down his life for his land — 
Who laid down all things for his land, 

And turned to the duty before him; 

And how now can we prove our thanks and our 
love 

But by casting these May blossoms o 'er him ? 



We know they will soon fade and wither — 
We know they will soon droop and die; 

But one time, I read, how an angel 

Came down from the mansion on high — 
In the night, from God's kingdom on high — 

Came down where a poor faded flower 

Lay crushed by rude feet, in the dust in the 
street, 

And he carried it up to God's bower; 



And laid it before the God Master, 
Wlio kissed it, and passed it to Christ, 

On the throne at His side ; and He kissed it, 
And the touch of those kisses sufficed — 
And the touch of the God-head sufficed — • 

And it bloomed out in wonderful splendor, 
A thing of delight, and most fair in God's sight- 

'Tis a fable, I know ; but so tender, 

So sweet that I like to believe it — 
And I have been thinking, to-day, 



POEMS OF LOVE. 127 

That mayhap these soldiers, now angels, 
Will come, when these wreaths fade away — • 
When they wither and shrivel away — ■ 

And will bear the crushed things up to heaven, 
And God, and His Son, will kiss them, each one, 

And new beauty and bloom will be given. 

An odd fancy, perhaps, yet dispute it, 

And prove it untrue if you can. 
There are strange, subtle ways, in God's workings 

Now veiled from the knowledge of man^, 

Shut out from the vision of man, 
By a dark veil of deep mortal blindness ; 

But when God deems it right. He will give us our 
sight, 
And remove the thick veil, in His kindness; 

And when we have entered His kingdom, 

And all his strange ways understand. 
Who knows but these very same flowers 

We shall find there abloom, in His land. 

All fresh, and all fair, in His land; 
And these soldiers who went on before us. 

As we wander and stray, through God's gardens, 
shall say : 
"These are the wreaths you cast o'er us." 

Then strew ye the best and the brightest 
Of buds and of blossoms full blown, 



128 POEMS OF LOVE. 

Over the graves of the loved ones — 

Over those labeled "Unknown;" 

Oh! the pathos of that word, "Unknown!" 
Bring hither the brightest and rarest, 

And reek not if the clay wore the blue garb or 
gray; 
We will give him the best and the fairest. 



For somebody mourned for the "missing," 

And wept for them hot, scalding tears. 
And hoped against hope for their coming; 

And waited, and watched months and years. 

Such long and such desolate years ! 
But the hearts are so patient that love them, 

And some now watch and weep for the soldiers 
who sleep 
With the slab labeled "Unknown" above them. 



Then gather from meadow and woodland. 

From garden and hot-house and vase. 
The brightest and choicest of blossoms, 

And scatter them here in this place, 

This holy and hallowed place — 
This city of rest, not of labor, 

Where only the bird and th' brown bee is heard. 
And neighbor speaks never to neighbor. 



POEMS OF LOVE. 229 



THE PEOPLE'S FAVORITE. 



God bless the hero of my song ! 

Six years the chieftain of our state ! 
"We've held him in our hearts so long, 

And proved him good, and true, and great, 
That now we could not let him go, 
Even if he would have it so. 



I hear the praises of his name 

From east and west, and north and south, 
His foes are silenced from sheer shame: 

His deeds have sealed up slander's mouth. 
And all the little imps of spite 
He's crushed beneath his heel of right. 

He dropped an arm one bloody day 
In beating down the walls of wrong, 

But no strength went with it away ; 
His other grew full thrice as strong. 

Few men, with their two hands, have done 

As noble deeds as he with one. 

His soul speaks through his eye of blue, 
And all men know him one to trust, 



VSO POEMS OF LOVE. 

Because liis heart is kind and true, 
And all his actions prove him just. 

I speak for thousands when I cry, 
"The people's favorite for aye!" 



May God be with him all his days — 
With him and all he holds most dear; 

And if my little song of praise 

Should chance to fall upon his ear, 

May he accept the offering, 

A.nd know that from my heart I sing. 



POEMS OF LOVE. 131 



AN ARMY REUNION. 



After the battles are over, 

And the war drums cease to beat, 
And no more is heard on the hillside 

The sound of hurrying feet, 
Full many a noble action, 

That was done in the days of strife, 
By the soldier, is half forgotten 

In the peaceful walks of life. 



Just as the tangled grasses 

In summer's warmth and light 
Grow over the grave of the fallen 

And hide them away from sight 
So many an act of valor 

And many a deed sublime 
Fade from the mind of the soldier, 

O'ergrown by the grass of time. 



Not so should they be rewarded, 
Those noble deeds of old ; 

They should live forever and ever. 
When the heroes' hearts are cold. 



132 POEMS OF LOVE. 

Then rally, ye brave old comrades, 

Old veterans, reunite! 
Uproot time's tangled grasses — 

Live over the march, and the fight. 



Let Grant come up from the White House, 

And clasp each brother's hand — 
First chieftain of the army, 

Last chieftain of the land. 
Let him rest from a nation's burdens 

And go in thought, with his men, 
Through the fire and smoke of Shiloh, 

And save the day again. 



This silent hero of battles 

Knew no such word as defeat. 
It was left for the rebels' learning, 

Along with the word retreat. 
He was not given to talking, 

But he found that guns would preach 
In a way that was more convincing 

Than a fine or flowery speech. 



Three cheers for the grave commander 
Of the grand old Tennessee ! 

"Who won the first great battle — 
Gained the first great victory. 



POEMS OF LOVE. 133 



His motto was always ''Conquer," 
"Success" was his countersign, 

And "though it took all summer," 
He kept fighting upon "that line. 



Let Sherman, the stern old general, 

Respond to the reveille, 
Let him march with his boys to Georgia, 

From "Atlanta down to the sea," 
Oh, that grand tramp to Savannah ! 

Three hundred miles to the coast ! 
It will live in the heart of the nation, 

Forever in pride and boast. 



As Sheridan went to the battle, 

When a score of miles away, 
He has come to the feast and banquet, 

By the iron-horse, to-day, 
Its pace is not much swifter 

Than the pace of that famous steed 
That bore him down to the contest 

And saved the day by his speed. 



(Wlien the above verse, which had been impro- 
vised on half of a programme by Miss Wheeler, 
during the progress of the exercises, was read, it 
created wild enthusiasm, and led the loud calls for 



134 POEMS OF LOVE. 

Sheridan, who came to the front of the platform, 
where he was received with loud applause and 
bowed his acknowledgments.) 



Then go over the ground to-day, boys, 

Tread each remembered spot, 
It will be a gleesome journey 

On the swift-shod feet of thought ; 
You can fight a bloodless battle, 

You can skirmish along the route, 
But it's not worth while to forage. 

There's rations enough without. 



Don't start if you hear a cannon, 

It is not the sound of doom, 
It does not call to the contest — 

To the battle's smoke and gloom. 
"Let us have peace," was spoken. 

And Lo ! peace ruled again ; 
And now the nation is shouting, 

Through the cannon's voice, "Amen." 



Oh, boys, who besieged old Vicksburg, 

Can time e'er wash away 
The triumph of her surrender, 

Nine years ago to-day ? 



POEMS OF LOVE. 135 



Can j^ou ever forget the moment, 
When you saw the flag of white, 

That told how the grim old city 
Had fallen in her might? 



Ah, 'twas a bold, brave army, 

When the boys, with a right good will, 
Went gayly marching and singing 

To the fight at Champion Hill. 
They met with a warm reception, 

But the soul of "Old John Brown" 
Was abroad on the field of battle, 

And our flag did not go down. 



Come, heroes of Lookout Mountain, 

Of Corinth and Donelson, 
Of Kenesaw and Atlanta, 

And tell how the day was won! 
Hush ! bow the head for a moment — 

There are those who cannot come, 
No bugle call can arouse them — 

No sound of fife or drum. 



jMcPherson fell in the battle, 

When its waves were surging high. 

Brave Ransom sank by the wayside; 
'Twas a lonely death to die. 



136 POEMS OF LOVE. 

They walk God 's fair, green meadows, 
They dwell in the land of bliss, 

Yet I think their spirits are with us 
In such an hour as this. 



Oh, boys who died for the country, 

Oh, dear and sainted dead ! 
What can we say about you 

That has not once been said, 
"Whether you fell in the contest, 

Struck down by shot or shell, 
Or pined 'neath the hand of sickness, 

Or starved in the prison cell? 



We know that you died for freedom, 

To save our land from shame. 
To rescue a periled nation. 

And we give you deathless fame. 
'Twas the cause of Truth and Justice 

That you fought and perished for. 
And we say it, oh, so gently, 

"Our boys who died in the war." 



Saviors of our Republic, 
Heroes who wore the blue. 

We owe the peace that surrounds us — 
And our Nation's strength to you. 



P0EM8 OF LOVE. 137 



We owe it to you that our banner, 
The fairest flag in the world, 

Is to-day unstained, unsullied. 
On the summer air unfurled. 

We look on its stripes and spangles, 

And our hearts are filled the while 
With love for the brave commander. 

And the boys of the rank and file. 
The greatest deeds of valor 

Were never written out. 
The noble acts of virtue 

The world knows nothing about. 



And many a private soldier. 

Who walks his humble way, 
With no sounding name or title, 

Unknown to the world to-day, 
In the eyes of God is a hero; 

All such He will reward. 
No deed, however secret. 

Is hidden from the Lord. 



Brave men of a mighty array, 

We extend you friendship's hand! 

I speak for the "Loyal Women," 
Those pillars of our land. 



138 POEMS OF LOVE. 

"We wish you a hearty welcome, 
We are proud that you gather here 

To talk of old times together 

On this brightest day in the year. 



And if peace, whose snow-white pinions 

Brood over our land to-day, 
Should ever again go from us 

(God grant she may ever stay), 
Should our Nation call in her peril 

For "Six hundred thousand more," 
The loyal women would hear her 

And send you out as before. 



We would bring out the treasured knapsack, 

We would take the sword from the wall, 
And, hushing our own heart's pleadings, 

Hear only the country's call. 
For, next to our Lord, is our Nation ; 

And we cherish the honored name 
Of the bravest of all brave armies 

Who fought for that Nation's fame. 



POEMS OF LOVE. 139 



THE CAMP FIRE. 



When night hung low and dew fell damp, 

There fell athwart the shadows 
The gleaming watchfires of the camp, 

Like glow-worms on the meadows. 
The sentinel his measured beat 

With measured tread was keeping. 
While like bronze statues at his feet 

Lay tired soldiers, sleeping. 



On some worn faces of the men 

There crept a homesick yearning, 
Which made it almost seem again. 

The child-look was returning. 
While on full many a youthful brow, 

Till now to care a stranger, 
The premature grave lines told how 

They had grown old through danger. 



One, in his slumber, laughed with joy. 
The laughing echoes mocked him, 

He thought beside his baby boy 
He sat and gaily rocked him. 



140 POEMS OF LOVE. 

O pitying angels! Thou wert kind 

To end this brief elysian, 
He found what he no more could find 

Save in a dreamer's vision. 



The clear note of a mocking bird — 

That star of sound — came falling 
Down thro' the night; one, wakeful, heard 

And answered to the calling, 
And then upon the ear there broke 

That sweet, pathetic measure. 
That song that wakes — as then it woke. 

Such mingled pain and pleasure. 



One voice at first, and then the sound 

Pulsed like a great bell's swinging, 
"Tenting to-night on the old camp ground," 

The whole roused camp was singing. 
The sense of warfare 's discontent 

Gave place to warfare's glory; 
Right merrily the swift hours went 

With song, and jest, and story. 



They sang the song of Old John Brown, 
Whose march goes on forever; 

It made them thirsty for renown, 
It fired them with endeavor. 



POEMS OF LOVE. 141 

So much of that great heart lives still, 

So much of that great spirit — 
His very name shoots like a thrill 

Through all men when they hear it. 



They found in tales of march and fight 

New courage as they listened, 
And while they watched the weird camp-light, 

And while the still stars glistened, 
Like some stern comrade's voice, there broke 

And swept from hill to valley 
'Til all the sleeping echoes woke, — 

The bugle's call to rally! 



"To arms! to arms! the foe is near!" 

Ah, brave hearts were ye equal 
To hearing through without one fear 

The whole tale's bloody sequel? 
The laurel wreath, the victor's cry, 

These are not all of glory; 
The gaping wound, the glazing eye, 

They, too, are in the story. 



And when again their tents were spread, 
And by campfires they slumbered. 

The missing faces of the dead 
The living ones outnumbered. 



142 POEMS OF LOVE. 

And yet, their memories animate 
The hearts that still sur\dve them, 

And holy seems the task, and great, 
For one hour to revive them. 



POEMS OF LOVE. 143 



INDEPENDENCE ODE. 



Columbia, fair queen in your glory ! 

Columbia, the pride of the earth! 
We crown you with song- wreath and story; 

We honor the day of your birth! 



The wrath of a king and his minions 
You braved, to be free, on that day; 

And the eagle sailed up on strong pinions. 
And frightened the lion at bay. 



Since the chains and the shackles are broken. 
And citizens now replace slaves, 

Since the hearts of your heroes have spoken 
How dear they held freedom — by graves. 



Your beautiful banner is blotless 
As it floats to the breezes unfurled, 

And but for one blemish, all spotless 
Is the record you show to the world. 



144 POEMS OF LOVE. 

Like a scar on the features of beauty, 
Lies Utah, sin-cursed, in the west. 

Columbia! Columbia! your duty 

Is to wipe out that stain with the rest! 



Not only in freedom, and science. 

And letters, should you lead the earth; 

But let the earth learn your reliance 
In honor and true moral worth. 



When Liberty's torch shall be lighted, 
Let her brightest most far-reaching rays 

Discover no wrong that's unrighted — 
Go challenge the jealous world's gaze! 



Columbia, your star is ascending! 

Columbia, all lands own your sway ! 
May your reign be as proud and unending 

As your glory is brilliant to-day. 



i5'®'«^ 




